


Christening

by h0ldthiscat



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5329688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h0ldthiscat/pseuds/h0ldthiscat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why haven’t we ever had sex at work?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christening

When she comes back from the cafeteria, she locks the door behind her. Mulder looks up at the sound, surprised to see her empty-handed, but more surprised by the troubled look on her face. 

His feet are propped up on the desk, chair reclined as he nurses a handful of sunflower seeds. “All out of egg salad sandwiches?”

“I saw a couple just now, on a bench outside,” she jumps in without preamble, gestures with a thumb, “practically on top of each other. Hands on thighs, tongues down throats. In broad daylight. Presumably, at work.”

“Yowser.”

“And they seemed so unaffected. So… in their own world that whatever else was going on around them didn’t matter as much as each other.”

“What are you getting at?” he asks through a mouthful. 

“Why haven’t we ever had sex at work?”

His feet slip from the desk unceremoniously and he chokes on a seed. “Beg your pardon?”

“Here, in the office. Why haven’t we consummated the place yet?” she asks, looking around as if she’s a homebuyer thinking of purchasing the property. 

“I didn’t--ah, I didn’t really think that was your bag, Scully,” he stammers, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his trousers.

She smirks now, looking down at the floor. “Really, Mulder? After last night you think office sex isn’t my bag?”

It’s his turn to look at the floor, as flashes of Scully on his kitchen counter pass over his eyelids and he remembers the way she tastes alongside the sugary sweetness of whipped cream, the way her femoral pulse feels against his cheek. 

He clears his throat. “I guess I never wanted to be too forward. To make it seem like I’d been thinking about it since…”

“Since when?” she asks, raising a challenging eyebrow. 

“Can I plead the fifth?”

“You can. Let me do the talking.” She stalks toward him, deadly in navy blue. Her hands are hot and she pulls him to his feet, loosens his tie, nips along his jawline, leaving traces of a lipstick color he has learned is called Rose Desire. 

“Shhh…” The sound is both a soothing exhale and a hiss of pleasure as she backs him into the filing cabinets. His heart is pounding. 

He works on the bulging buttons of her blazer and she undoes his tie. “What are you doing that for?”

“Leverage.” She demonstrates, yanking on the paisley silk and pulling him down for a bruising kiss. 

When they part he nods, blurry-eyed. “Continue.”

She’s worn a skirt today, mercifully, and she hisses when his fingers brush against her inner thigh. “Cold.”

He bunches the twilled fabric up around her waist, swiping a hand over the smooth material of her underwear, black like he knows her bra is. He saw her get dressed this morning. There is something incredibly erotic about watching a person get dressed when you know you’ll see them clothed all day, he’s learned. Apparently Scully feels the same way, working her dexterous fingers over his belt buckle. He groans when the heel of her hand makes contact with the bulge in the front of his trousers. 

“Yeah?” she murmurs, looking up at him, her eyes stormy. 

“Yeah…” he grunts out, resisting the urge to thrust into her hand. 

She slides his fly down and puts her hand down his pants, palming him through the thin material of his boxer briefs. The friction of the soft fabric against him in combination with her practiced hand movements is working him up much faster than he expected. He strokes her idly through her panties.

“You’re certainly ready,” he observes with a grin. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

“Mulder, after seven years, I’m always ready.” 

She swipes her thumb over the head of his shaft and he has never been more turned on in his life. He lifts her swiftly, gripping tightly at the backs of her thighs, the curves of her ass, and turns them to press her into the filing cabinet and kiss her for all she’s worth. 

She grips his hips with her thighs, grasping at his tie, his lapels for purchase. His tongue moves down her neck to taste the hollow of her throat and her head lolls back with a moan, smashing into the sharp corner of the filing cabinet. 

“Fuck!” She is prettiest when she swears, he thinks. 

He puts her down, smoothes a hand over her hair. “You okay?”

“Like this,” she says, not answering his question and pulling him toward the desk. She faces it, bends over, and rests her elbows across his case files, then looks over her shoulder expectantly. Mulder scrambles to get his pants and boxer briefs down around his ankles. He enters her swiftly, gripping at the slippery material of her shirt around her waist and pushing it up to feel her skin under his hands.

“God, why haven’t we done this before?” she keens, meeting his rhythm with her own backward thrusts.

“Because we’re idiots,” he pants. 

“Speak for yourself,” she moans, sliding a hand down to touch herself and finding that he is one step ahead of her. She comes quickly after that, and he follows very close behind, the sound of her oh god yes sending him over the edge. 

She slumps down into the chair, her panties catching on the heel of her shoe. “Ruined,” she observes sadly, picking them up and pointing out the rip he must have made when he pulled them down.

“Sorry,” he says, reaching to the far side of a desk for a Kleenex. 

She tosses her panties in the garbage and crosses her legs, looking proud of herself. He tells her so. 

“We sure showed that couple on the bench,” she replies.

“Scully…” Something occurs to him suddenly. “Was there a couple on the bench?”

“What are you implying, Mulder?” Her tone is frost but her eyes are fire.

“That this was all just an elaborate ruse to get into my pants at the office.”

She stands, shrugs. “You know me, Mulder. I’m a G-Woman. At the crux of all my intentions is my master plan to deceive, inveigle, and obfuscate.”

She gives him a wicked grin and goes to get cleaned up, leaving him standing in their office, pants down, marveling at his suddenly abridged refractory period.


End file.
